


Bank Job

by staticbees



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Florida Lives AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: Snippets from a world where Captain Butch Flowers lives, feat. asprin substitutes, gratuitous cheeriness, and a shameless Barenaked Ladies reference.





	Bank Job

**Author's Note:**

> I'm retconning Future!Church out because 1. fuck canon and 2. I wrote this before I realized Future!Church was the one who killed Flowers. So, let's just say that's another way this is an AU.

Church begins to head into Blue base, and stops short in the doorway, eyes widening.

 

Captain Butch Flowers stands in the middle of the room, hunched over as if in pain. His helmet is off and his dark braided hair is tangled and unruly, a sharp contrast to his unusually pale and drawn face. Church stares at him for a moment, marveling in the uncharacteristic display of weakness in his captain, before heading towards him.

 

“Uh, sir, are you okay?” he asks, setting his gun down.

 

“I told you, call me Cappy,” Captain Flowers grits out, a tight smile plastered on his face. “And I’m fine.”

 

Church looks skeptical, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You, uh... don't look so good.”

 

“Just not feeling- not feeling top-notch, that’s all. Possibly having a heart attack. My grandfather always did say it ran in the family,” he adds, unsettlingly cheerful.

 

Church blinks. “You, uh… you want some medicine or something?”

 

“That would be…” Flowers takes a ragged breath. “Positively lovely.”

 

Church walks over to the shelf that the medicine is arranged on by color (Flowers’ fault, he said it made the whole thing seem ‘brighter’), and takes a pill from a small bottle sitting near him, holding it out. “Here.”

 

“Thank you.” He pauses, frowning. “Does it have Aspirin in it?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“Allergic.”

 

“Oh, fuck.” He turns around and starts rummaging frantically through the bottles of medicine. “It looks like we have some shit called, uh, Plavix, which looks like it might be similar? Or, umm, uh-”

 

“Plavix is fine,” Flowers cuts in, his voice strained.

 

Church hurriedly unscrews the lid and gives a pill to Flowers, who takes it gratefully. He makes a face at the taste but doesn’t say anything, heading over to his quarters with a tight smile and a wave.

 

Church watches him go, still amazed at his superior’s endless optimism. He hears footsteps behind him and whips around, relaxing once he registers Tucker’s standard blue armor.

 

“Hey, dude, where’s Flowers?”

 

“He had a heart attack, and then I almost killed him with Aspirin. Pretty sure he’ll live, though.”

 

Tucker stares at him. “What the fuck? I was gone for two minutes!”

 

Church just shrugs.

 

. . .

 

Church and Tucker are sitting in Blue base, with cards splayed out on the table in front of them. Church is in full armor, pale blue and dented, and Tucker has his half on, aqua tank top damp with sweat from the burning Blood Gulch sun. His hair is tied up behind his head and his smudged glasses are sitting crooked on his nose. There’s a sudden voice from behind them, and Tucker jumps, scattering his hand across the table.

 

“Guess what?”

 

Church turns around and Flowers can feel his glare from behind his helmet. “What.”

 

“Since Red Team now has _four_ soldiers stationed here instead of three, _we’re_ getting a _new_ recruit! Isn’t that exciting?”

 

“Wow, great,” Church responds sarcastically. “Someone else to make me regret ever joining this fucking army.”

 

“Are they gonna be a chick?” Tucker asks hopefully. “We always need more girls in this canyon, it gets lonely out here.”

 

“No, I’m afraid he’s not female,” Flowers responds, vaguely apologetic.

 

“Awww, well, maybe next time.”

 

“Next time? Tucker, there’s not going to be a fucking next time! The only way there’ll be a next time is if one of us dies!”

 

“And that won’t happen on my watch!” Flowers cuts in. “My main goal in this army is to keep my troops safe _and_ in _peak_ condition!” He glances a little too long at Church, who averts his gaze, inexplicably uncomfortable with Florida’s piercing eyes.

 

“So, when’s he getting here?”

 

“The day after tomorrow! I’ve already set up quarters for him in the base. As long as we make him feel welcome, he’s sure to feel right at home here in Blood Gulch Canyon!”

 

“God, I hope not,” Church mutters under his breath.

 

“Now, we need to keep an optimistic attitude, Church,” Flowers admonishes. “We don’t want to alienate our new recruit when he arrives!”

 

“Ugh, fine,” he answers, rolling his eyes.

 

. . .

 

Florida’s inspecting the new tank, a UNSC M808V Main Battle Tank from Command. He’s been warned to not let the other soldiers use it, as it is extremely risky to have around, and neither Private Tucker nor Private Caboose have been taught how to drive a UNSC-class terrain vehicle, much to his annoyance. However, he had assured Command that it would be a much-needed morale boost for his men, and they had agreed to send it, albeit reluctantly.

 

Apparently, it’s a kind of ‘dumb A.I,’ with limited processing power, but the ability to learn from mistakes and adapt to new situations. So far, Florida hasn’t observed any such traits, but he’s absolutely ecstatic to see them for himself. Command also informed him that it’s based off of F.I.L.I.S’s personality matrix, but currently goes by the name ‘Sheila,’ something he was delighted to hear.

 

“Uh, sir?” Private Caboose’s voice snaps him out his thoughts, and Florida turns around, a broad smile on his face that he knows the rookie won’t be able to see through his helmet.

 

The new recruit is… interesting, to say the least. Florida was wary of him for the first few days, but relaxed significantly once Private Caboose accidentally put orange juice in the chocolate chip cookies and claimed that Tucker had done it, even though Tucker had been nowhere near the kitchen at the time.

 

However, he _is_ on high alert for unexpected fires or other alarming hazards, especially after what had happened the other day with the bullets and the blender, while he was out on patrol.

 

“Why, hello, Private Caboose! How are you today?”

 

“I’m, uh, I’m fine.” He shifts nervously, his cobalt blue power armor glinting in the sun. “Church and Tucker didn’t want me on patrol with them so I came over here to watch you fix the tank.”

 

“Alright, that sounds lovely.” Florida pauses. “Listen, I just want you to know, I am pleased as punch to have you here, Caboose,” he remarked warmly. “If there’s anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

 

“Okay. Thank you, sir.”

 

“You are quite welcome.”

 

Florida glances back at the rookie a moment, before turning on the tank. He stands back, beaming, as it flickers to life.

 

“Hello, and thank you for activating the M808V Main Battle Tank. You may call me Sheila.”

 

“Hello, Sheila. I’m Captain Butch Flowers from Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. This is Private Caboose,” he adds, gesturing to the rookie.

 

“Um, hello, big tank lady,” Caboose says, waving slightly.

 

“Hello Caboose. Would you like me to run the tutorial program?”

 

“Uh, no thanks. Maybe later.”

 

. . . 

 

Church sits on the roof of the Blue base, fingers tapping the ground beside him. His legs dangle off the sides, and he watches the darkened windows of the Red base across the canyon with a sigh. He has a datapad sitting next to him, but he hasn’t touched it in a few hours. The sun is still up, burning bright in the sky (Flowers had assured him when he first arrived that it was simply a result of the planet’s natural orbit) and he squints against the bright light, spotlighting everything in the canyon with harsh clarity. At some point, the Reds and Blues fell into a cycle of night and day, despite their opposing viewpoints, and by the Blood Gulch clock, it’s currently almost midnight.

 

Church rolls his eyes as his helmet radio crackles, transmitting a faint voice through the static.

 

_“I was the driver; you ran the show;_

_You had the last word, the go or no go;_

_I knew every laneway in Ontario._

_But it's not what you're sure of, it's what you don't know.”_

 

He tunes his radio to the frequency and groans, “Flowers, go back to sleep.”

 

“Oh, hello, Church!” exclaims a cheerful voice from the other end. “What’re you doing up this late?”

 

“Insomnia. Why the hell are you singing Barenaked Ladies songs at midnight?” he demands.

 

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping too. Possibly due to the fact that I go to sleep standing up, with my eyes open, but then again, I shouldn’t blame an overall issue on one little quirk!”

 

“Yeah, uh, sure."

 

Flowers falls silent, and Church turns his gaze back towards Red Base, and waits for morning to come. 


End file.
